


Gone

by Clea2011



Category: Primeval
Genre: Character Death, Deathfic, F/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clea2011/pseuds/Clea2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Trope Bingo Square 'Deathfic'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

When he woke, the first thing Becker always did was stretch out, reaching for her.  But she wasn't there.  That side of the bed was cold and empty, just like it had been for three weeks now, and the pillowcase on that side which he hadn't been able to bring himself to wash didn't really smell of her any more.

Becker had always been quiet.  He liked solitude, he liked to come home to an empty flat and sit around relaxing, not having to make any small talk to anyone. 

Then Jess had buzzed into his life with her bright clothes and her endless chatter, and it was effortless just to sit there and let her happily chatter away.  He didn't need to say anything much, just listen to her voice until she'd stop talking and accuse him of making fun of her.

He'd never really made fun of her.  Teased her perhaps, let her ramble on and on and then point out a fundamental flaw from the first sentence of her idea.  But that was mostly because he just liked to listen to her talking.

The silence, now that she was gone, was deafening.

He got up, because lying there in the empty bed was just making things worse. 

Her things were still in the bathroom, still in the wardrobes.  He needed to get someone in, have it all sent to charity, but he wasn't quite ready to do that.  It would be like losing her all over again.  If he left it there then it looked as though she'd just gone out, that she'd be back later.

She'd never be back.

Out in the kitchen he made himself breakfast.  Gone were the days when he could take her coffee in bed with a little plate of toast and then grumble good-naturedly at her when there were crumbs in the sheets that night.  Now there was just a photo of her, smiling up at him from the wall where she had been sitting when he'd taken it.  Photos were all he had of her.

He sat in the lounge to eat.  The toast was dry and hard to swallow, and he'd over stewed the tea again.  He often did.  It was hard to concentrate. 

The windows of their flat were huge, and if you leaned against them it was like hanging over the edge, looking far down at the street below.  Someone had jumped once, from the floor below and Jess had cried for days because she'd known them and quite liked them but had never had time to find out what their problems were because she was too busy with her job, or with him.  It wasn't her fault, or her responsibility but she'd felt it because she was kind and always felt everything too much.  It was what he'd loved about her.  One of the things, anyway.

He'd settled.  He never thought he would, but he'd settled.  And then he'd lost her because of a stupid, pointless accident.  Not a future predator or a raptor or anything that either of them would have expected to fall victim to, just a drunk driver when she'd been shopping after work. 

Becker looked down at the street below.  It was a long way down.  A long, long way down.

 


End file.
